Masterpiece
by sariahbradshaw
Summary: "Make each day a masterpiece."-John Wooden. Or, we may not have forever. CaptainSwan. Oneshot.


Disclaimer: Nope.

A/N: For anyone rereading this, it is a re-post and the ending has changed. I thought the original was too messy.

"Have you ever thought about moving?"

The question is so out-of-the-blue that Emma halts all movement, leaving her red leather jacket hanging at her elbows. She cocks her head, turning slowly to the blue-eyed man who just stumped her.

"Excuse me?" She is standing in the foyer of their house, the place the damned pirate had chosen _himself_. It's pretty and she can afford it and it's close to his stupid sea so what on- _Oh_.

 _Oh_ , Emma realizes. Because he may have picked the house in Camelot, but it was the Dark One's dwelling before it was theirs. The basement she was thinking should either be a 'man cave' for Henry (and honestly, Hook too. Henry had him engrossed in one of his adventure games that involved, unsurprisingly, a pirate.) or a place for him to store all his weird nautical prizes, was where she had chained him to Zelena and hidden Excalibur. The garage she occasionally parked her bug had held the dreamcatchers she used to remove memories. So maybe his suggestion wasn't truly as outlandish as she had initially voiced it to be.

Killian had simply been watching her, waiting (though he had successfully manoeuvred out of his jacket.) His normally expressive face was oddly guarded as he finally opened his mouth, seemingly to repeat the question.

"I mean, I like it here but I know we had a shit starts here," Emma cuts him off, regaining motion as she removes her jacket and goes to toss it on the couch. Killian shoots her a pained look and reaches out for the it before she can throw her coat. She chuckles at him but relents under the man's glaring eyebrows (seriously, if she hadn't seen it herself, she would never believe that he could be any good at poker with eyebrows that practically danced.) to hand him the leather so he can place it neatly next to his on the coatrack. The oddly domestic sight of red-and-back makes her chest warm a little. Screw the house. That was what she wanted to keep. Jackets next to each other. His anal retentiveness for cleanliness. "So if you wanted to look at other places, I'd be fine with that. I'm not terribly picky but I figure you've got an acceptable distance away from water."

His face lights up at her teasing tone and Killian shakes his head, hair, a small grin winking into life. "Of course love. I can't have my old mistress too far from me. She get's cantankerous without proper care and would be quite the devil as an enemy. However, I would also require an abode that would keep us far from...prying ears and eyes."

He straight-up smoulders at her and Emma is torn between openly laughing at him and stripping him naked to have her way. She settles for rolling her eyes and letting herself fall into the couch beside her. He gravitates to her, lifting her spread legs to sit before laying them back down onto his thighs, hook absently rubbing a calf.

"However, darling, I wasn't referring to a change in house." Her eyes had half-drifted shut when he spoke again, eyes trained on the metal appendage as it trailed up and down her flesh. "I was thinking that when we remove the town's curse again, perhaps we could actually change location." The grin he gives her rings false. "I know how much you loved New York."

Emma goes from drowsily relaxed to rigid in an instant. She brings her elbows up to support her back as she curls forward towards the pirate, trying to catch his gaze. Hook keeps his eyes studiously down.

"Hook, are you drunk?" Really, this was the man who _actively_ fought against her return to the city. The one who always told her to stop running. To stay. Of course, considering that he had just helped her scrape by a meeting with one of Hyde's new friends that morning meant he was sober as a rock but-really?

Hook finally looked up, chuckling softly at her. "All sailors are born 80-proof, Swan…."

He takes a breath and the ache she finds in his gaze makes her reach up with one hand to rub against the scruff on his jaw in a near involuntary reaction. His lips pull at the gesture but she can still almost feel the sorrow clipping her fingers as it touches his skin.

"You _hate_ , New York Killian. The last time you went, I never stopped hearing about the 'bloody congestive noise' and 'wankers with no sense of personal space or decorum'. Henry dragged us to my favorite pizza joint and I still remember you mumbling about the smell of 'rotten cod tongue on fire'. Don't even get me started about your whining on bologna. Why the fuck would you suggest going there?" She almost smiles at the shudder that goes down his spine at the mention of bologna but something is clearly seriously off with her pirate today.

His hand scratches that spot on the back of his neck, that tell-tale that let her _barely_ (embarrassingly enough, seriously those eyebrows) beat him at poker last week. "Well, it wouldn't have to be New York, love. We could set sail on the Jolly or visit that Boston place you were before-or anywhere, really. If you wished it."

He looks so eager and so damned heartbroken at the same time that Emma just has to sit up fully, leaning her head against his shoulder and wrapping her arms around his neck until she feels his long, shuddering sigh against the skin of her neck as his head drops. She lets him rest a moment against her, battling whatever demon this thought of _running_ has derived from.

Emma runs her head through the hairs at his nape. "Do you dislike living here?"

"No," Hook's answer is instantaneous, thoughtless. "I just thought that if you wanted…"

Emma shifts against him. "Is is the sea, do you miss it? All of the traveling and swashbuckling or whatever? Because I could see if I could take a few days vacation and we could go-"

"No Swan." She feels the words more than hears them. "As much as I love the idea of you, me, Henry, and the sea that's not...love, you are having dreams predicting your demise. You almost perished _today_."

Emma blinks, pulling back to eye Killian fractionally. His arms form bands around her as he resolutely refuses to look up from his spot in her collar. She has to actually search back for the details of the morning. It hadn't seemed significant. Some crazy-as-fuck fairytale creature trying to wreak havoc on the town for some long-ago slight probably caused by someone she was distantly related to, knowing her family. He'd had a truly ancient pistol that shot off loud and slow rounds everywhere until she had managed to tackle him and take the damn thing. Really, they were back in the house by one. If her stupid hand hadn't acted up, they could have been back even sooner. It was a slow day as far as Storybrooke was concerned.

 _Which really says something about my life_ , Emma shut that thought away as she tried to figure out why Hook, dread pirate of the seven seas, was now _curled_ into her after a fairly decent morning. And came up blank.

"Hook what is this ab-" His fingers rose to cut her off, skimming lightly over the opposite shoulder where he was now resting his chin, frown wrinkling his brow as he stared at it with a far-off expression.

She had enough. Emma was big enough to know who the patient, coaxing one and the demanding, no-bullshit people were in this relationship. And it fucking ate her when he stewed in one of his _moods._ While he had been upset after her revelation, Killian had seemed himself once he returned, enjoying hot rum and chinese before keeping her up all hours of the night with pleasant distractions. (She was fairly certain there was a belt with notches somewhere in their house. The man lived to make her come.)

"Alright pirate, spit it out. Would you tell me what is so weird about my shoulder that you've gone all broody? Because the last time I remember talk of moving was involved, I believe I was flayed into about how running away was 'trite' and would never make me happy and was generally a bullshit plan." Okay, so he had been a touch more gentle than her narrative, but hey-she wasn't the one with a thesaurus for a brain. She pushed against him to palm his cheek, forcing him to meet her gaze. "So what the hell is all this talk of gloom and doom and New York?"

Killian's jaw tenses under her touch and the hand that was skimming reverently over the shoulder suddenly wrenches, pulling her white tee into view so they can both eye the small slice but through the fabric. Emma arched a blonde eyebrow.

"You want to leave to save my closet?"

Apparently, deflection had not been the way to go. He went from melancholic and soft to hissing and nearly shaking her in a heartbeat. On second thought, she could deal with anger way better than sorrow, so it probably had been for the best.

"You didn't even realize one of his bullets caused this, did you?" Hook accuses, pulling at the shirt with his hook now. (In different context, that move tended to send heat straight to her fingertips) "You were so caught up in making sure _Regina_ was safe that you had no idea how close-" A distressed noise chokes him off, and he suddenly releases her to start stalking about their living room.

Something in his tone rubs her. "I am fine. It's not like we haven't been in tough scrapes before. I haven't actually _died_ , you know." Even she was surprised by the accusatory note in her voice. "And what the hell is wrong with Regina?"

It's always ugly when Killian gets angry, if only because he so rarely does with her. The last time they had been cursed and before that she had left him chained to a beanstalk. Emma is the one who riles easily, who hisses like a feral cat while he weathers the storm with three hundred years of patience. She knows this, should have known to back down when she caught the furious rustle of his dark jeans. Give him space. But he has never in all their time together doubted her strength and between Archie and her stupid hand and the dreams, it claws at her throat.

"She murdered your sherriff!"

Silence and stillness choke the air from the room following his outburst. In the moments of peace between Gold's departure and return (it seemed like lifetimes had passed since then) Emma and Killian had spent long, lazy mornings curled up in his room at Granny's, trading secrets and stories in the afterglow. Graham's death had perhaps been one of the hardest, spoken lowly as her fingers traced Milah's tattoo while his lightly rested on the shoelace to ground her. She carries the knowledge of his death tucked safely between her ribs; the understanding that she has befriended and shares custody of her child with his murderer. Regina has never spoken of it and no one else in town recalls, so it sits like a festering, toothed thing on her soul some days because even if they never had more than a brief moment, he had been her friend. Her first friend in a long time.

Tomorrow is the anniversary of his death.

Killian knows all of this. Knows it hurts her. He knows it because she told him in a moment of vulnerability and trust. (and love, even if she couldn't admit it then)

And he's thrown it back in her face.

She can see his face crumble the moment he knows he's gone too far. The anger deflates from him and he takes a tentative step forward, a reaching arm. "Swan-"

His movement triggers her and she takes a physical step back and hates herself for it. "Don't. Just don't."

Emma knows he's apologetic. It's written all across his face and the way his body sways towards her, stuck between obeying her wishes and the almost instinctual need to comfort her. But he's injured her and that voice inside her head is chirping again,Y _ou let them in, they'll hurt you. You let them in, they'll hurt you. You let them-_

"I'm going for a walk."

She turns so she can't see his eyes beg but she swears she feels it pressed against her breastbone as she takes clipped steps out of the house.

Emma walks without destination, her stride quick as she weaves through alleys and into woods to avoid any well-meaning townsperson. The ever-working analytics of her brain filter through to let her know that it is indeed, a stupid idea to be wandering by herself with a horde of mysterious and possibly violent strangers murking about. However, she's got her gun and her wits and it's always kept her alive. The visions scared her just as much as him, but she had faith in the people she loved. They brought him back from the goddamn underworld, for Christ's sake. They'd figure this Saviour business out. _Despite what Hook seems to think._

However, her subconscious must still be aching because without intention, she's in front of Graham's headstone.

"Hey sheriff," Her voice is steady and she's proud of it as she crouches. "It's a shit day."

She tells him about Hyde's invasion and how she could really use his help because while she loves David and will never tell him, he's a shit shot. She tells him about Henry wanting to help everyone find their own ending and how different it is from his time. She tells him about how she's going to fight fate because orphaning her kid _again_ is not an option, but he'd be really useful in figuring it out. She's not even sure why or what's she's saying half the time but the sky starts to darken to grey when she feels a visitor behind her.

"-And he has absolutely no subtlety. A blind mouse could see him coming from a mile away." Emma finishes as she stands from her crouch, muscles protesting and causing her to frown. (Like she needed to feel _old_ on top of everything else today.)

"Hook send you?" She should probably be a little less curt with her father, it's not his fault she's in a temper. However, she knows they've got some sort of awkward bromance going on that involves scathing insults and pretending not to like sparring with each other and it makes her unfairly resentful for his presence at this moment.

She hears David sigh behind her back. "Emma-"

"No," She whips around, ponytail flying around her neck. "I don't care."

Here, he can see what it would have been like to raise a stubborn teenage Emma.

He lips press in a slight upturn and he walks over to her, laying a hand on her shoulder. "It's getting late and you're alone. Storybrooke isn't the safest place at the moment, especially for you."

Another person who doesn't believe in her. _You let them in and they'll hurt you. You let them in and they'll hurt you_. "I'm armed and capable of looking after myself, despite what you and your boyfriend think. I did it for twenty-eight years, remember?"

She almost regrets it when she sees his nose pinch and those wide blue eyes sag. (She knows it's his I-abandoned-my-kid face and it always makes her feel a little like she's kicked a puppy. She makes a mental note to make sure he never teaches Hook that look. She'd be doomed.) _Almost._

"No one believes that you can't take care of yourself. You are called the Saviour after all," David chuckles softly. "And my daughter. But we care about you and don't want you to end up fighting battles all alone, even if you can. It hardly makes you weak to lean on the people who care about you. We're a team."

 _I don't mean to upset you Swan, but I think we make a great team._

Emma scowls because she was clearly rubbing her childhood in his face and rather than call her out on her bullshit, he just goes soft and vulnerable. And now she feels like she kicked a puppy and it licked her boot in apology. She feels some of the anger sloughing off her skin and pulls a breath before facing him.

"How'd you know where to find me anyways? Snow's the tracker." David gives her a pointed look for taking another pot-shot at his skills but a soft smile belies the look.

"Hook told me I'd find you here."

His words settle in between them because _of course_ Killian knew where she would be before she even thought it. He knew because he knew her. He knew her and after revealing what had been terrifying her for weeks, doubted her.

 _You let them in and they'll hurt you. You let them in and they'll hurt you. You let them in-_

 _Or,_ Because he knew her and used that knowledge to contact her father to ask him to check up on her because he was concerned. Because he cares. Because he loves her.

She glances back to the grave behind her. The last time she had visited Graham had been when Killian had been resting beside him and she had asked him if she was cursed: the only three men she had ever cared about (she doesn't count Walsh. Doesn't count a lie.) lying in the same graveyard. Emma remembers feeling so helpless and furious and frustrated that she wanted to tear the dirt from the grave and plunge her hands in to force the pirate to come back to her. She remembers telling Graham that the stupid idiot had placed his hand on her cheek to try and comfort her as he was bleeding out, because he was a moron of a man. She had kneeled on Graham's grave and cried because she hadn't been able tolook at the stone that said _Killian Jones: Pirate & Hero_ those first few days because she loved him too much. Loves him.

Emma let out a sigh and her shoulders dropped as the rest of the anger fled from her. Stupid Pirate. Stupid David. She shots her father a suspicious look from under her brow. "Alright Captain Hope, let's go."

David was beaming despite the insult, knowing he had won as he pulled her into his grasp and led her back to her house in the grey twilight, the first signs of twinkling in the sky.

He was in the kitchen when Emma got back. She paused, leaning against the open entry to observe him. Normally, Killian moved around their kitchen with the kind of grace that made her swear he had two hands. She had no idea if he knew how to cook previous to coming to Storybrooke and merely had to learn her appliances or if he learned everything here. She suspects it's the latter, and that it was done purely because for her benefit. (Or his and Henry's as well. She's only ever managed breakfast and grilled cheese without burning the house down or poisoning someone and assumed neither would be prefered.)

Today however, he's moving about with a nervous energy, a distracted hand chopping carrots while the hook spindles a spoon around in a pot. Emma steps into the kitchen, watching as he stills, before sliding out a chair and taking a seat at the little table they dine on. Her hands remain latched at her side and she wonders for a moment if he's even breathing-staying completely still and silent.

"I'm not angry." Her voice ripples across the room, springing him back into motion. He spins around to face her so quickly, light blinks at her from his earring. (The dangling, red gem today) Bright eyes search her in a tangible caress.

"You could be. You should be." Hook inches toward her like she might startle, (probably a fair assessment, considering) still searching for something in her form. She resists the urge to squirm, folding her arms around herself instead.

"Look, we all say stupid shit sometimes and it's hardly like I've never been a bitch."

A low, keening noise escapes his throat and he strides through the rest of the space between them and kneels on the hard tile of the kitchen floor. It flits into Emma's mind what he might be attempting to do but if he tries to apologize for _this_ with sex, she's going to kill him. Pretty face or not. (Before, he had enjoyed apologizing to her with his mouth very much. She's pretty sure he intentionally would forget the cinnamon on her hot chocolate in the mornings.) Then she sees the wild look on his face and knows that's not what the pirate is planning. What he does do, however, takes her completely by surprise.

Killian drops his head into her lap, turning to face her torso. If his hair had been as long as it was before the cut, he would have been the perfect imitation of a dog. She feels his blink against her thigh even between the layer of denim. They sit like that a beat, Emma completely unsure of how to proceed and feeling a little uneasy for it. Her arms release their hold on her torso, hovering nervously over his form.

"Hook?"

"Please don't shut me out." It comes out all in one rushed breath and she realizes that he can literally _see_ the chirping voice in her head with its mantra. The realization nearly makes her shudder.

"Pan's curse took you first," His speech is rapid, almost pressed into her stomach. "I had affections for you in Neverland and I wanted to pursue you and then you were gone, taken. We returned and I felt nugatory. I chased my ship and and theft and fighting and I never stopped _aching_. I couldn't even bed a woman."

The knowledge of his abstinence during the lost year surprises her. They had never discussed it but Emma had assumed that going back to his pirating ways included a whole lot of 'pillaging and plundering'. She feels a stab of irrational guilt for the fact that she certainly had _not_ been celibate.

"And then the vial came and it felt like waking from the depths of the sea, knowing I could see you. Then you were in front of me, all golden waves and half-slept eyes and so damned real."

They had never talked about the kiss. At first, the realization of what he had practically announced to her with that act scared the living shit out of her. So she ran. And then, when he caught up, he seemed content to go slow and take whatever she dished out. Darkness and death had followed, so they had been a touch too preoccupied to discuss the kiss until they discovered that indeed, they were a pair.

"But you had no idea who I was and you were off just a step. It was as if a siren dressed in your face to torment me mad into the horizon. You must be the most stubborn woman I have ever met."

The words are murmured with affection instead of reproach and Emma swallows hard.

"Then you woke up and you kept running but I knew I could win. I knew you would be strong enough to stay and fight. You did and suddenly I had permission to _touch_ you."

Even knowing that the universe has deemed them True Love, the almost reverent way Killian sometimes treated her made her uncomfortable. In turn, he rarely acts that way-giving her an easy grin and lazy clasp of her hand instead. Now though, his body turned nearly in supplication of her, words pouring out of his mouth, she almost thinks he can't stop it.

"You let me chart the constellation of freckles on your body and paint the visage of your soul. You gifted me your thoughts and unlocked your heart for me and I was _yours_. You were _home_ and the stars and the bloody sea and I had never been so lost to someone nor so contend to be so."

"Killian-" Emma interrupted, her hands going to try and pull him up. Something about the worshipful cadence and quick delivery was making her nervous. He complies as she turns his head to face hers, completely limp in her palm. His expression makes her inhale sharply. It's something lost and wild and it looks to her as if she's the only thing that exists but he's unsure if she's real.

"And then you were taken from me _again_ and even once I found you, you were fading to the bloody crocodile." Something despondent overcomes him as he continues, staring at her. He's vibrating against her, voice shaking and rapid breaths.

She hates herself for ever touching the damned dagger. "Killian, stop it. It's in the past. We're both here. Come on." He resists her pulling him up now, staying rooted on the ground and staring at her, lips moving as if entranced.

It's _scaring_ her.

"You laid in my arms in Camelot and I could feel you trembling. You murmured while your mind was _plundered_ and I kept waiting to wake up and no longer see you behind your eyes. To have to look into your eyes and know that your soul wasn't there. Even after we fought the darkness and the bloody underworld, we were separated _again_ by a damned portal. And now we're here but I still think _how long_ because Milah, Bae, and Liam all got taken from me too but I couldn't-"

His limbs move from under her, arms clutching both shoulders as his face curls into her. Emma wants to cry but she's terrified that if she moves this beautiful man will break under her. So, she swallows and presses one hand against his neck while the other strokes his knuckles.

"You've been taken from me thrice already Swan, I would not survive losing you again. I have never loved anyone like I do you and it terrifies me. The way your hand shakes like a body resisting death, terrifies me. Your damned predictions of your own end, terrifies me. The way you put everyone before your own life, terrifies me. I will never think you _weak,_ but I am. I will never live beyond you and that's why I mentioned the sheriff. I wanted you to want your own life over Regina's, over everyone else's, because that is the way I need you. I cannot stand that you would accept the price of your magic is death after all we have fought for. It's why I wanted to run from this godforsaken town where it seems that everyone wants to maim you. I am weak and foolish and I know I hurt you, but gods Swan, don't put that bloody armour back on for me. I need you love. I need you here and telling me when something frightens you or when I've upset you. I need you sitting by our fireside and glancing at the sea holding that chocolate concoction beside me. I need you to _live,_ Emma, Saviour or no. I just need _you_. " His voice had been softening since her touch and by the time he finishes, it is a soft, slow lilt. Neither speak as Emma feels his body relax against her, sagging so she has to bear his weight.

She's never been so thrilled to carry a burden in her life.

" _Jesus Christ,_ Killian." Because really, what else was there to say to that?

She feels the tired chuckle against her skin and the sudden tensing of muscles when he tries to get up. Emma's not having it. Instead, she slides from her seat in the chair and wraps herself around his form on the floor until she is sitting with his sprawled legs atop of hers and his head laying against her collar.

The ceiling fan whirls above them for long moments as Emma tries to piece together where to begin. She feels hollowed out and like a live-wire at the same time. All snatching thoughts and jittery fingers pulling through dark hair.

"You know I lost you too. In Camelot and then to the Underworld and even then there. It's not like you're the only one who…"

"Aye,"

She'd expected him to rebuttal back a reminder of how when they first returned, she kept him cooped up in the house for days, refusing to leave him or let anyone except Henry enter. She had glued herself to his side, her arm always resting above his heart as she accompanied him to his various errands with an anxious step. She had actually cried the first time she woke and he wasn't beside her, having gone to watch the sunrise on their porch. He returned, terribly guilty for causing her tears but firm in his insistence that this _wasn't a life, Swan_. It took time, but eventually Emma could be away from Killian for extended periods without her throat closing up with the fear of finding him dead. However, his quick agreement with her statement without rebuttal makes her wonder exactly how exhausted he is.

"And you were the one who kept telling me that running isn't the solution. That Storybrooke was my home."

"Aye,"

"And I get that my visions are...well yeah but we've been in worse binds and handled it."

He clutches her to him at those words as if he fears Hyde is going to walk in and throw her over his shoulder, taking a long drag of air. "...Aye."

"Killian..." He shifts on her collar at her question to meet her gaze. "If you already know all of this then why…"

"I kept the scissors."

Slush slides through her veins. "You what!?"

"Aye love," He suddenly looks his age, as if all three centuries have decided to bear down on Hook. The pirate plants his face in her torso and Emma feels the tears well in her eyes. "I just...Swan, gods, you were the first light in three hundred years of darkness and I love your compassion and your strength. I admire the Saviour Swan, but if it means I lose you... _"_

She feels wetness against her stomach and reaches to pull him up. "Oh, Hook-Killian, _no._ "

His blue-blue eyes are as wet as she dreads when he relents to look up at her. "I _love_ you Swan. What would I do without you?"

He's so lost that she feels a sob rise of her own. Logically, she knew this was a man who held onto the memory of his first love for three hundred years was passionate. To have it's full force turned against her though, to see that he truly did not know how he could survive her-

"I love you too," Emma blinks, trying to stop the tears. "I don't want to leave you Killian, but I need to know that if something happened tomorrow-"

Hook lets out a sound like a wounded animal, shaking his head against her body in protest. "I know. I'd look after the lad. But Emma...gods, Emma please _don't_."

He's full-on crying now, tears wetting her shirt, so she has no thought but to bring him deeper into her and hold him. This beautiful man. Her true love.

"I love you. Please don't leave. I'll protect you. I'll protect the lad. Swan, I'll give anything if you stay. You can take my ship. You can take me. Just-" He's nearly incoherent and they both know it but her heart is breaking. She may have been left by everyone but it has been a long time since Emma had to do the leaving.

Leaving someone who loves her. She's suddenly back in that prison hospital room, exhausted and sweaty and shaking her head in refusal to hold her son. Knowing that if she did, she could never let him go. But she did. She let Henry go and now she may have to let Hook go.

"Killian, shhhh. Shhh. I'll fight okay? And even if I lose...I am so happy I met you. So happy."

He's still sniffling against her skin, but she hopes he's calming when he bears more of his weight against her. He's always so solid that this break in composure makes her want to take the damned scissors and run away with him now. But she _can't._

"Love you."

"Aye. And I love you. Always, Swan." His breath is shallow against her belly, and despite the rough tone of his voice, he's clearly collecting himself.

"Please fight, my love. My strong Swan. My beautiful Saviour. I know….I would protect your boy if something happened but _please_ Emma."

Hook isn't crying anymore but his red-rimmed, black-lined eyes meet hers. She hates Hyde, hates whoever is in the Hood so much at that moment that she cannot imagine losing. Why must this man keep being _abandoned_?

"Okay, okay." She holds his forehead to hers, vowing to try to get back to him. "One more thing, Hook?"

"Yes," He responds, his hand pressing tight against her hip.

"I'm not using the scissors. We need to get rid of them. I can't doom an entire town just because I want to be free." The hand tenses again on her and she knows he wants to fight her on this. Wants to say that severing her fate should be the last resort and not her death. So Emma barrels on. "No matter what happens, if I go first, I'll meet you before the light, yeah?" I'll wait for you, she's saying. "I will wait for you in the damned Underworld drinking that awful coffee until we can go together."

Hook chuckles softly against the soft flesh of her tummy and while it's far from a happy sound, she'll count it as a win that he's not fucking sobbing anymore. "Darling?"

Thank god he does it so rarely. Emma doesn't know how she would handle it if he went to pieces like this any more frequently than...like never. It fucking gouges her.

"Yes?"

"Don't you dare. I'll catch up, no matter what."

Emma swallows the lump in her throat and wishes once more that they could run away. That she could be selfish and pick him first.

But that's not who she is, not who the woman he fell in love with is. Instead, she's going to trust in that third option and knows that if everything goes awry, her son is safe and she had a man who loved her against every odd itself.

Against death and darkness and gods. No matter what. It's a good life. It's a good promise.

It's theirs.


End file.
